


The Silence

by i_swear_by_all_flowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, au after 9x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_swear_by_all_flowers/pseuds/i_swear_by_all_flowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean kicks Cas out, he meets a man named Don.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> VeraBalder was the beta reader for this fic.

Silence rings throughout the building.

The Silence is unbearable.

“You can’t stay.” The words ring in his ears. _‘Why?’_ is all he wants to ask.

It feels like an eternity, but it could not have been more than a minute before Dean rises from his spot on the table.

“We’ll sort you out first, of course, um.” He pauses to run a nervous hand through his hair. “Give you money, some things, and I’m sure Garth would take you in…”

Dean says he is going to find his phone. Cas is not stupid; he sees it in Dean’s back pocket.

Dean has to get away; he walks into his room and closes the door. He sits on his bed, puts his head in his hands, and takes a few deep breaths. He still can’t believe what he said. He takes out his phone and dials Garth’s number.

Castiel is still sitting there when Dean returns, phone in hand. “Garth said he'll be here in a few. He was working a case in town, lucky us.” He suppresses a nervous chuckle. Dean sees that Cas isn’t looking at him. This is Cas, Cas who never stopped staring.

He is partially glad; he couldn’t look his friend in the eyes if he tried.

“You said you would help me acquire possessions, and since we have a limited window of time…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go get you a bag.” Dean rushes off.

There is a knock on the bunker door ten minutes later.

“Come in!” Dean yells from his room.

Castiel sees a tall, lanky man enter the bunker and descend the stairs.

Sam comes out of his room to greet him.

“Sam, look’n good!” The man, presumably Garth, hugs Sam tightly.

“Hey, Garth, um, what are you doing here?” Sam asks as he pulls back.

“Dean called, said Cas needs a place to stay.”

“Dean did what?”

“Um, yeah, didn’t he tell you?”

“Give me a minute.”

Sam quickly walks over to Castiel, who is still sitting in the same spot.

“Cas, what’s going on?” A puzzled expression sets on his face.

“Dean has told me that I cannot stay,” he replies without looking Sam in the eyes.

“Hang on,” Sam tells him as he leaves and finds Dean, in his room, stuffing clothes into a large black bag. A bottle of scotch is gripped tight in one hand. He turns when he hears the familiar sound of Sam’s footsteps.

“What the hell, man? Why are you doing this? I mean, we spend days searching for him, and more importantly, Cas is our friend! And you're just going to kick him out like an unwanted dog?" Sam asks. "Can I at least ask why?" He adds sarcastically.

“One). I’m not kicking him out, Garth’s here to pick him up. Two). No, you can’t.” Dean takes another swig out of the bottle.

“Why not?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Understand what? That you obviously don’t want to do this?”

Dean turns back and zips the bag before pushing past his brother and quickly setting the bag on the table.

“I threw a few hundred in there along with a…” He trails off when he realizes that Cas isn’t listening. “Be in the kitchen,” Dean mumbles as he leaves.

Castiel rises and stuffs his half-eaten burrito in his front pocket before swinging the strap of the bag over his shoulders.

-

The car ride is dreadful, but it's not from the ache in his legs from sitting, or the throb of hunger in his stomach – it's The Silence.

The Silence seems to drag on, and on, and on. The Silence is the worst part about being alone, abandoned, forgotten. Some crave The Silence; they wish to get away from the hustle and bustle of life, away from the zest and the vigor. To get away from the constant sound of engines, the sound of a child screaming for its long dead mother and father, to get away from the constant clamor of voices that seems to surround them when all they crave is the luscious harmony of The Silence. The calm noise of the naught is all they want.

But for Castiel, oh Castiel... The angel misses the constant clatter of the voices of his siblings. Castiel, the angel whose heart is his biggest flaw; he wishes to be surrounded by anything other than the sound of his own heartbeat and breath. He wishes to comfort the child who is wanting, craving, missing his mother and father – the child screaming, alone, in the darkness for someone long-lost. 

-

 It is midnight when they arrive at a cabin in Gering, Nebraska.

As he walks into the small cabin, Castiel sees wards against demons and angels lining the walls. On the right there is a stove and a limited amount of counter space between it and a small fridge. The shelves that line the wall are stocked with food and more than enough salt. A small bed with washed-out yellow sheets is pushed up against the far wall, and there is a door to the left.

“Um,” Garth starts. “I know it’s not much, but Dean told me you need to lie low for a while.”

Castiel turns and faces the other man. “Thank you.”

“Hey, always happy to help a friend out,” Garth says cheerfully. He closes the space in two long strides and wraps Castiel in an embrace. As he pulls back he says, “I don’t have a spare phone or I’d give one to you, but I’ll be back to check on you in a few days.”

Castiel just nods.

Garth places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile before turning and walking out the door. Castiel hears Garth locking multiple locks as he surveys the room again. He tries the door to his left; it creaks open to reveal a small bathroom. He walks into the dilapidated room. To his left, a small sink where dark brown water is leaking out of the tap. Above this an ancient mirror hangs on the wall. He sees his reflection: dark circles around his blue eyes, pale skin, and short hair shining dully. He rests his head on the mirror’s cool surface; the only thoughts that comes to his mind are those of anger and longing. He'd thought he was home, but he was wrong. He knows that now.

The Silence rings throughout the building.

The Silence is unbearable.

  **-**

“Cas is gone.” Garth’s worried tone is clear over the phone.

Dean has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can talk. “When did he leave?”

“I’m not sure, couldn't have been more than a day.”

“I need you to look for him.”

“No can do, amigo, I have cases to work. Look, I’ll check the local area, but if I can’t find him soon…”

“Yeah, I understand.”

 “There’s something else you should know, Dean.”

“What?”

“He left the bag you gave him. I didn't go through it, but it looks full. I’m sorry,” Garth adds.

“I know,” Dean replies, then the phone clicks and the line is dead.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice rings across the library.

“Yeah, um, Cas. He bailed.”

“Are we going to look for him?”

“No, he can look after himself.”

“Last time he was alone he ended up dying, Dean.”

“You don’t have to remind me, Sammy.” Dean mumbles as he heads off to the kitchen.

**-**

It is late afternoon when he catches a ride with a truck driver heading to Cheyenne. He knows that he could not stay in Scottsbluff. Garth would be back soon, and Castiel couldn’t risk anyone finding him.

From Cheyenne he travels, hitchhiking with truck drivers and vacationers. He sleeps everywhere: under bridges, in homeless shelters (if he gets there early enough), and if someone helps him out, even a cheap motel room. He lets people buy him meals; Dean only gave him three hundred, so he must ration it. Sometimes, if he’s hungry enough, he flashes the FBI badge Dean gave him in order to get food. He always says that the Bureau will reimburse them; he always remembers to leave a tip.

Tonight, around thirty days since his leaving (it is hard to keep track with his human mind), he is in Colorado Springs. An older couple on vacation from Orlando gave him enough for a meal and motel room. He walks into the room and remembers that it was around five years ago, in a hotel room not unlike this, that he'd first met Sam Winchester. He remembers the young man who had stammered and offered Castiel his hand in greeting. He also remembers that it was later that day, in a park, that he'd confided to Dean that he was not a blunt tool, that he had questions and doubts.

 He takes a shower and washes his old yellow shirt along with his blue jeans and red jacket, that Dean gave him, in the small sink, which sits opposite a grungy bathtub. He starts to regret leaving the extra clothes Dean had packed for him, but no – Dean obviously hadn't wanted him around. He was useless in this state. He knows that. He did not want to take more than he absolutely needs. 

After hanging his clothes up to dry, he crawls under the stiff sheets of the motel’s bed. He lies flat on his stomach and places a hand on the cold metal of the angel blade’s hilt, under his pillow. Even now, in a place like this, he is on guard, ready to fight if need be.

-

Weeks later Castiel finds himself under a bridge in a small town; he is not sure where. He keeps track as best as he can, but he is human. He’s sitting by a small fire. No matter how close he is to the flames he gets, the chilling wind seems to surround him. Sitting across from him is young dark-skinned man and a very pale woman. They are passing back and forth something that Castiel has learned from his time on the road is called a “joint”. They seem to be in a giving mood tonight. “You want a drag?” The man asks as he takes another deep breath.

Castiel’s been offered things like this before. Normally he would politely decline, but right now he is exhausted, on edge, and he knows that the drug would cause him to feel euphoric and relaxed. He also knows where people like this end up, but for tonight, he stops caring. He reaches out and takes hold of it. “What’s your name?” the other man asks.

“Cas,” he replies after a quick cough. “Your name?” Cas asks the other man.

“Don,” he replies. 

  **-**

They pull up to the curb outside a broken-down building on the outskirts of some small town in Idaho. Dean opens the Impala door and slides out. He tells Sam to keep her running.

He puts a hand on his gun holster and walks up to the house. The hinges on the door creak as he enters. The sound gets a few curious turns of heads from some of the occupants. One of the first things Dean notices is the rank smell that fills the place. He brings his jacket up to cover his nose. How could anyone want to live here? How could someone like-. He cuts himself off. He’s not sure that Cas is even here. It’s not a reliable lead. It was just some homeless guy under a bridge.

The building is completely dark except for the afternoon light that filters through the broken windows, illuminating the drugged-out bodies littering the floor. The light dims as he moves further into the house, but he is able to find his way through the cramped space.

He pauses when he gets to the back room when he sees a familiar-looking body curled up, facing away from Dean. Enough light is leaking in to show him that the figure has his or her head lying on a bunched-up old red jacket. Dean’s heart jumps into his throat. Could it really be that easy? Weeks, months of searching, and it’s just that easy? Could he really waltz in here and find him?

He crouches down next to the figure lying on the cold floor and turns it over.

Dean's breath catches in his throat.

“Cas.”

It doesn’t look like Cas, not exactly. His skin is pale. There are dark circles surrounding his closed eyes, cuts on his face from what looks like his attempt at shaving. His dark hair is matted and long enough that it almost reaches his lips – his lips which are chapped and blue. Worst of all, he isn’t moving.

Dean sits and stretches out his legs and pulls Cas, who is far too light, into his lap while placing his left hand under his head. A disgruntled moan escapes the pale blue lips. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he'd been holding.

Dean gently brushes Cas's hair out of his face, “Hey, Cas. Cas,” Dean says as he lightly taps his face.

Cas slowly blinks his eyes open and stares at Dean.

Dean does not try to hold back the slight smile which plays on his lips.

Cas says something that Dean has to lean down to hear. “Hallucination _s_ , _thasnew.”_

Dean’s stomach drops for three reasons. One). He recognizes the smell of alcohol on his best friend’s breath. Two). The smell of marijuana also wafting off his friend is hard to miss. Three). His best friend thinks he is a hallucination.

Dean would laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but this is his fault. He knows that.

Cas does not take his eyes off of Dean. With a small cough, he reaches his hand up and cups Dean’s cheek. He runs his thumb lightly over Dean’s skin. Dean tries to resist the urge to lean into the gesture.

He cannot.

A small smile plays on Cas’s lips. He looks _happy_.

Dean would be content to let this moment go on forever.

There are hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He quickly blinks them away.

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand with the one that is not currently supporting (he refuses to call it _cradling_ ) the ex-angel’s head.

Realization dawns on Cas’s face.

The hand falls onto his chest.

Cas pushes himself up and tries to gather his legs. The room spins around him; he starts to fall sideways, coughing. Arms reach out to steady him and pull him back.

 He fights them.

“Cas, relax, it’s me!”

“I know who it i _s_!” He slurs the ‘s’.

Cas is drunk, high, and sick, so it's easy to restrain him. This is Dean’s fault. He knows that. He hates himself for it.

Cas twists and pulls so violently that soon it’s his stomach that is twisting and pulling violently. He barely has time to bend over in order to avoid vomiting all over himself and Dean.

Dean wraps his arms tightly around Cas’s shoulders and chest as Cas starts coughing and wheezing.

How often he's thought of this. Well, not this _exactly_ , but being with Dean. To be able to be with the Winchesters, to be able to comfort Dean like Dean is comforting him now. He knows that will never happen. Dean does not need him. If he did he would not have sent him away. Cas knows that he, without his angel powers, is just a baby in a trench coat. Well, minus the trench coat.

“What have you been taking?” Dean mumbles into Cas’s ear.

As the coughing ceases, he answers honestly. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Dean lets out a dark laugh. “That’s the spirit…”

It was obviously not an amusing concept, to Cas at least. Was it supposed to be? Most of the time Cas does not understand Dean’s sense of humor.

“Why’re you here?”

“For you.”

Now it was time for Cas to laugh.

“Why are you here?” Cas asks more clearly.

“Cas, for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean adds after a while.

Cas feels the anger swelling up in him again. He wants to scream, to rave about family, longing, sorrow. He wants to yell about everything he has been through. But he settles for asking the question that has been haunting him for months. He dreads the answer, but decides that it would better to know, once and for all.

“Why did you tell me I couldn't _s_ tay?”

Dean takes in a breath. He has been expecting this question. He'd never figured out how he would answer.

“Cas, you remember when I asked you about Ezekiel, right?”

Cas replies by giving a small nod of his head.

“You see, the trials messed Sam up bad – no more birthdays, dust to dust, bad. And that messed me up, so I made a move, a tough move about Sam without talking it over. Because he was in a coma; they said he was gonna die. Zeke, Zeke said he could fix Sam, so I let an angel in. Sam didn’t know until a few weeks ago…. Cas, you know how that reaper stabbed you?”

“Ye _s._ ”

“Well, you were gone, dead as a door-nail.” He clears his throat and starts again. “He brought you back.”

Dean takes a deep breath and continues.

“After we got back to the bunker, Zeke, he told me that you had to leave. He said he couldn’t risk the other angels finding him. And If I didn’t, he would leave Sam’s body. Sam wasn’t well enough; he would’ve died, so I did what he said… Anyway, he left Sam’s body about ten weeks ago. Sam’s still pissed at me. He’s got the right to be, but he said that he would help me look for you.”

“ _S_ o _S_ am is well again?”

“Yes.”

“Ezekiel’ _s_ gone?”

“Yeah.”

His breath hitches as he is about to ask the next question. “And I, I can go back with you?”

“Yeah, Cas, you can.”

“What if I _s_ ay no?”

Dean has never let himself think about that possibility. Didn't Cas need him, like he needs Cas? Didn't Cas want to be with the Winchesters, at all? After everything they've been though, they're family, aren’t they?  How could he say no?

“Where would you go?” he asks. He hopes that he doesn't sound as broken as he feels.

“Where wouldn't I go?”

“In your state?”

“I would clean up.”

“Who would help you with that?”

Cas is about to reply when another fit of coughing seizes him.

“You’re sick. You need help.”

Cas does not reply, but when the coughing fades, he leans back into Dean.

“Ready to go home?” Dean asks him.

“You don’t need me. I’m of no help. E _s_ pecially now, in my current _s_ tate.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty sick. It’ll take a while before you’re healthy again.”

Cas’s stomach clenches. Is this really what he wants? To be left here, alone, in The Silence?

“But,” Dean continues, “I want to be there with you, Cas. I need you with me. Cas…. Listen to me.” Dean pulls back, then angles himself and Cas so they stare eye-to-eye.

Green eyes meet blue as Dean continues.

“You may not be of any help, for a while, anyway. I may not need you. But Cas, I sure as hell want you. But it doesn’t matter what I want, Cas, what do you want?”

“I want you,” Cas replies.

After that day, he never had to worry about The Silence again. For there was always noise, whether it be the growl of a tormented creature long past saving, or the sound of a heart beating in his consort’s chest.

-

  **End**

**Author's Note:**

> The reason Cas has blue lips, and is coughing and wheezing is because he has Aspiration Pneumonia.


End file.
